donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2009-01-28 01:30 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2009-01-28 01:30 pm
Entry tags:
Happydale Horrors
Title: Happydale Horrors
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Supernatural/Torchwood (sort of), none, rated PG
Word Count: 644
Summary: The ‘Happydale Home for Seniors’ was living up to its name, unfortunately for Sam and Dean
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morgynleri_fic . Set in the same verse as The Four Times Dean Was In Over His Head and A Helping Hand
At first they assumed there was some sort of fertility rite at work. It wasn’t.
Next, they thought it was a spell. It wasn’t.
It wasn’t a wishing well or demonic influence either. It was just a lot of people having random sex, for no particular reason.
It was like what the 70s must have been like, only with old people, who really should have known better, and really, really should never have even considered being naked in public. Ever.
“Well,” Sam finally said, once their last lead had failed to pan out, “at least the ‘Happydale Home for Seniors’ is living up to its name.”
“I can’t sit here any more.” Dean had been trying to shield his eyes from Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Thompson necking, but the slurping sounds were impossible to ignore. “Maybe there’s nothing unnatural about it. Maybe it’s viagra. Or, maybe it’s just a bunch of old people going at it.” He covered his face with his hands and sighed. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“No, Dean, there has to be more to it. There’s some sort of cycle here. Look, I plotted….” Sam stopped talking, his brain stuttering to a halt when he realized Mr. Thompson had started a strip tease. Dean’s face went completely white but, taking advantage of Sam’s distraction, he grabbed the laptop out of Sam’s hands and hightailed it out of the common room and was halfway down the hall before Sam could even engage his brain enough to even think about following him.
A few minutes later Sam found Dean sitting in the Impala, smacking his head on the steering wheel. “That was horrible, Sammy. Horrible.”
Sam just looked at Dean for a minute before laughing. “Yeah, it kinda was.” Gesturing for the laptop he opened it and scrolled through a bit of information before finding what he was looking for. “As I was saying, I might have figured something out. These,” he waved his hand in the direction of the front steps, “incidents. They coincide with certain foods on the menu.”
Dean got out of the car and leaned against it, his shoulder lightly bumping Sam’s. “So what, they serving oysters here now?”
“No, donuts.”
“Donuts.”
Sam looked up and caught the look on Dean’s face. “I swear.”
“Okay... so we're dealing with what, sex donuts?”
“Well, not exactly. Or, that’s not all, I should say.”
“Sammy,” Dean warned, “spit it out already.”
“I’m not sure. Exactly. No one is really sure where they come from. The bakery that supplies the rest of the bread goods claims they don’t make them.”
Dean scraped his hand over his face. “Tell me they don’t just appear out of the blue on a full moon or something.”
“Well,” Sam hedged, “quarter moon, actually. And only when there weren’t any clouds. That’s why it took so long for me to figure it out.”
“Oh, crap.” Dean pulled out his phone and began dialing. “Great, I got the freakin’ machine. Hey, Jack. It’s Dean Winchester. Look, you don’t happen to know anything about alien sex donuts, do you? Give me a call, we can really use your help on this one.”
“So what now?”
Dean slid into the car, and looked up at Sam. “Now we wait. With any luck, Jack’ll know what to do about it.”
Sam looked back at the retirement home. He could just make out the silhouettes of two people pressed up against the steamed up window. “Think he’ll be able to stop the donut deliveries?”
“I really hope so. And then we’re never going to talk, or even think, about this case ever again. And I mean ever.”
“That sounds like a really good plan to me,” Sam agreed with a shudder.
Dean’s phone rang. “It’s Jack. Keep your fingers crossed, here goes nothing,” he said, flipping open the phone.
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Supernatural/Torchwood (sort of), none, rated PG
Word Count: 644
Summary: The ‘Happydale Home for Seniors’ was living up to its name, unfortunately for Sam and Dean
Author's Note: Written for
morgynleri_fic . Set in the same verse as The Four Times Dean Was In Over His Head and A Helping HandAt first they assumed there was some sort of fertility rite at work. It wasn’t.
Next, they thought it was a spell. It wasn’t.
It wasn’t a wishing well or demonic influence either. It was just a lot of people having random sex, for no particular reason.
It was like what the 70s must have been like, only with old people, who really should have known better, and really, really should never have even considered being naked in public. Ever.
“Well,” Sam finally said, once their last lead had failed to pan out, “at least the ‘Happydale Home for Seniors’ is living up to its name.”
“I can’t sit here any more.” Dean had been trying to shield his eyes from Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Thompson necking, but the slurping sounds were impossible to ignore. “Maybe there’s nothing unnatural about it. Maybe it’s viagra. Or, maybe it’s just a bunch of old people going at it.” He covered his face with his hands and sighed. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“No, Dean, there has to be more to it. There’s some sort of cycle here. Look, I plotted….” Sam stopped talking, his brain stuttering to a halt when he realized Mr. Thompson had started a strip tease. Dean’s face went completely white but, taking advantage of Sam’s distraction, he grabbed the laptop out of Sam’s hands and hightailed it out of the common room and was halfway down the hall before Sam could even engage his brain enough to even think about following him.
A few minutes later Sam found Dean sitting in the Impala, smacking his head on the steering wheel. “That was horrible, Sammy. Horrible.”
Sam just looked at Dean for a minute before laughing. “Yeah, it kinda was.” Gesturing for the laptop he opened it and scrolled through a bit of information before finding what he was looking for. “As I was saying, I might have figured something out. These,” he waved his hand in the direction of the front steps, “incidents. They coincide with certain foods on the menu.”
Dean got out of the car and leaned against it, his shoulder lightly bumping Sam’s. “So what, they serving oysters here now?”
“No, donuts.”
“Donuts.”
Sam looked up and caught the look on Dean’s face. “I swear.”
“Okay... so we're dealing with what, sex donuts?”
“Well, not exactly. Or, that’s not all, I should say.”
“Sammy,” Dean warned, “spit it out already.”
“I’m not sure. Exactly. No one is really sure where they come from. The bakery that supplies the rest of the bread goods claims they don’t make them.”
Dean scraped his hand over his face. “Tell me they don’t just appear out of the blue on a full moon or something.”
“Well,” Sam hedged, “quarter moon, actually. And only when there weren’t any clouds. That’s why it took so long for me to figure it out.”
“Oh, crap.” Dean pulled out his phone and began dialing. “Great, I got the freakin’ machine. Hey, Jack. It’s Dean Winchester. Look, you don’t happen to know anything about alien sex donuts, do you? Give me a call, we can really use your help on this one.”
“So what now?”
Dean slid into the car, and looked up at Sam. “Now we wait. With any luck, Jack’ll know what to do about it.”
Sam looked back at the retirement home. He could just make out the silhouettes of two people pressed up against the steamed up window. “Think he’ll be able to stop the donut deliveries?”
“I really hope so. And then we’re never going to talk, or even think, about this case ever again. And I mean ever.”
“That sounds like a really good plan to me,” Sam agreed with a shudder.
Dean’s phone rang. “It’s Jack. Keep your fingers crossed, here goes nothing,” he said, flipping open the phone.